Denial
by Leanan Sidhe
Summary: Sands has been with many a women, one he met for a day, never seen again. Until five years later an assignment calls for a partner, and guess who comes out of retirement to help the Agent? (before OUATIM rated for language)
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I own nothing really, except when it comes to calls and prior claims with my friends so at the moment I own: Patrick Koster, Boromir, Haldir, Faramir, Alec Trevelyan, Sean Miller, Hook, William Tavington, Lucius Malfoy, Roux, Jack Sparrow, Abberline, and the great CIA agent who wears I'm with stupid shirts. You all know who I'm talking about. Oh and I own my own character. There you have it.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It had been a fucking tight spot. He'd admit it to himself, if to no one else. The assignment had been in New Orleans, long before any of his trips to Mexico. The pastry shop he had gone to had been a set up. The owner, a Mr. Darmond, had the fucking royal flush played against him. Men with guns in the kitchens and men with guns across the street. While the owner babbled his demands of the Agency, Sands had been forming a somewhat sketchy plan of getting out, namely blowing them all to fucking hell.  
  
The shop bell rang. He had turned to eye the sixteen year old girl who entered, along with the owner.  
  
Jesus Christ......he didn't feel like helping out the stupid kid if things got messy and it seemed Darmond didn't either.  
  
"Cecile, we're closed today." The chunky pisser called to her.  
  
The girl removed her tan orange tint sunglasses. Sands did a fast check. 5'6, definitely not skinny assed, on the plump side but it had been years since there had been a fuck worthy Marilyn Monroe body, if anything it made him impressed. Dyed red hair, easy to tell off the bat, probably a brunette. A black tee saying "When ya got it, Flaunt it." Worn blue jeans and what looked like a mean pair of black kicks.  
  
"Pops, the sign on the door would suggest otherwise." She answered, not at all disturbed by Darmonds trembling timber of voice.  
  
"Cess," Darmond growled, shifting uneasily, "I'm busy now, come back tomorrow."  
  
The girl gave Sands the eye. A gaze that skimmed, obviously liking what was displayed, "Mmm," she hummed, "I'd be busy too if I had customers like this."  
  
Sands never let his hand move from the gun at his waist although keeping it hidden in the folds of his jacket, he felt his lips pull into a smirk. The girl winked and the smirk grew. Well that was Sands ego combusting. Maybe he'd wine, dine, and sixty nine her after he was done with the baker.  
  
Turning back to Mr. Darmond she continued, "Look, Pops, I'm only here to get my usual chocolate crossiants and you KNOW I go crazy if I don't have some form of sugar. So pleeeeeeeeeaaaaaseeeeeee," she pouted adorably, "give me a break today and just give 'em to me."  
  
Darmond ran a hand through his greasy hair, "Fine. Jesus, you're just like Sally. Always what you want, when you want it. Alright, two crossiants coming right up."  
  
Sands eyes narrowed a fraction behind the dark shades, watching every movement Darmond made as he reached around to get the girls order. He dimly heard the damn child talking again.  
  
"He's right on the mark though, ya know? I want. I get. I enjoy."  
  
"Is that so....." Sands murmured taking note of the twitchy glances Darmond was throwing toward the register. Sands hand tense as it hovered over the gun.  
  
"Oh yes, I don't think it right to deny oneself...." She rambled on.  
  
Darmond came back with a bag. He was sweating. Ah ha......someone was scared shitless. He punched in some buttons ringing up the price, "That comes to $5.20, sweetheart."  
  
The girl slid a ten across the counter, "Denial is bad for the system. That's why I don't deny myself anything....."  
  
She was getting on his fucking nerves now. He was debating just shooting her and getting on with business when she finished her remark.  
  
"I don't deny myself fun......like taking out your men in the back and across the building."  
  
It registered on Sands what she had just said and he glanced at her quickly but his full concentration on Darmond. Her smile had not faded, if anything her eyes were more bright and her expression more sweet. Darmond however was white as a vampires ass, trembling.  
  
"It's gonna need a hell of a clean up back there, Pops. Kitty will have a lot to do tomorrow at her shift I'm afraid."  
  
The register opened with a beep. Darmond thrust his hand in as the girl whipped out a gun from inside the waist of her funky beaded belt, and had it at Darmond's head.  
  
"Drop it, Poppy, or your blood will be mixed, I assure you, with the raspberry tarts. And I really like them, so don't make me ruin the pastries, ok?"  
  
Sands brows rose slightly in amusement. Ohhhh he liked this girl already, knowing not a fucking idea who the hell she was or who the hell she worked for.  
  
Darmond dropped whatever had been in his hand, clattering to the floor.  
  
"Now why didn't I just say that?" Sands murmured taking off his shades and drawing out his own gun.  
  
"I'll let you say it next time." The girl replied, her smile he noticed was hardened and her eyes held a cold amusement, "Now, Poppy, you're gonna tell sexy here what he needs to know, give us the ransom money, and you're going to go. Find a hide out, some place to retire to cause the next time I see you, I shoot your fat ass into your grave."  
  
"Ok, ok......" Darmond stuttered under the girls close scrutiny. "The man behind this crapper plan from hell goes by the name Reaper. You know Reaps the rewards of the dealings and profits....."  
  
"I know." The girl confirmed.  
  
"And the Reaper as in Death......"  
  
"Creative little ass, this one, huh?" The girl commented, cocking her head. Sands found himself giving her the twice over, taking in her stance. It radiated power, dominance. He sucked his tongue between his teeth. He'd do her in an alleyway as soon as this was over, "And where does this Reaper work?"  
  
"The son of a bitch has a flair for the dramatic...."  
  
"Obviously." She said.  
  
"So he works from the center of the city...."  
  
"Where?" The girl lost the sweet, childlike tone, becoming harsh and commanding.  
  
"I don't know." The answer was too quick in coming.  
  
"Liar, liar," Sands chanted raising his gun to point at Darmond, "pants on fire."  
  
"Ya know that trigger finger doesn't look so steady, Poppy," The girl's smile jerked as she mentioned Sands, "I think you should just come out and tell us."  
  
"I don't know!" The tremble in the beefy man had become a violent shake.  
  
Sands cocked his gun, "Strike two, old geezer, and I don't feel like playing fucking ball....." There was a deadly click as the gun readied itself.  
  
"He doesn't know." The girl muttered, "Shit. Ok, Pops, give me my change. All hundred thousand. Oh and my crossiants."  
  
Darmonds hands shook as he started pulling out money from the back of the cash register, and putting it in her bag.  
  
"Hey, babe," the girl asked, turning to look at Sands, "I like that gun, where'd ya get it?"  
  
"Watch the fat fart." He warned her.  
  
"He's not going anywhere." She assured him just as Darmond pulled out a gun from his apron. She and Sands shot at exactly the same time.  
  
"Are ya?" The girl finished. She bent to her knees in front of the glass case. "Goddamnit, Poppy. I told you not the tarts!" She rose, sighed, shook her head, "Damn waste." She muttered, hands on her hips.  
  
Sands reloaded and aimed his gun at the petite's head. "Start explaining or I start shooting."  
  
"Up your tight little ass, sexy." She quipped uninterested, taking the bag of sweets with the mounds of cash in it off the counter, shoving her gun back into her belt, and the bright lensed glasses back upon her nose. "Goddamnit." She muttered again as she kicked the case. "Well come on, hot pants. My car is out front. Come on." Her finger beckoned to him.  
  
"I'm not hearing any explanations, sugar-butt." He reminded her severely.  
  
She sighed in annoyance and pinned him with a glare, "Alright jackass, feast your eyes on that. Now come on." She tossed a badge to him and he caught it deftly in his other hand.  
  
F.B.I.  
  
"You fucks sure have great timing."  
  
She threw a smile over her shoulder as she walked out into the street, Sands following her, taking great notice of her backside, a subject which was soon diverted by the shock of her car.  
  
"Now that's a fucking wild ride, there." He whistled as he threw back her id, and put back on his own shades. Her laughter surprised him, a sound not like the high feathery or girlish giggles he had heard many a time. It was...normal, surprisingly enough.  
  
"Get in." She indicated to the passenger side.  
  
Sands slid in pulling the door shut.  
  
"You might want to put a sear belt on, sweets." The girl warned cheerfully.  
  
"Leather?" He asked surprised taking in the interior of the car.  
  
"Too late." The girl gunned the engine, slamming hard on the gas. Sands was pushed back into his seat by the sheer force of the speed momentum. Sands hands gripped the arm rest. The radio was on as fast as the car was. A throaty voice, that resonated and vibrated the car belted through:  
  
Leavin' the house at a quarter to five  
  
Took my boots and I'm ready to ride  
  
I feel so high  
  
I feel so alive  
  
"You like this crap?" He asked moving to shut off the music as the singer started to scream the chorus:  
  
YOU WANNA BRING ME DOWN!  
  
YOU WANNA BRING ME DOWN!!!  
  
Her gun was at his crotch in a second.  
  
"Touch it, and I blow your balls off, cutie."  
  
Sands raised his hands in the air, withdrawing as her gun did.  
  
"So what's your name?" He asked watching the streets fly by in a blur.  
  
"None of you fucking business." She responded politely.  
  
"Damn long name. Your age then." He pressed, feeling a smile grow.  
  
"Eighteen, today."  
  
"Happy birthday, sugar-butt."  
  
"Thanks, cutie-pie."  
  
"No big thing." He slid his gaze over her, "Say this might sound crazy but," Sands grasped her knee giving a playful squeeze, "how 'bout we make it a birthday you never forget?"  
  
She laughed again as they screeched to a stop, "Get out, snuggle- bunny, this is where you get off."  
  
They were at the airport. She handed him the bag with the money and the sweets. "Take it to New York. Your people sure are pissed at you, they've been waiting three days for you."  
  
"What about your sweets?"  
  
"Eat 'em, get some fat on those bones of yours. Don't deny yourself, hun."  
  
"I won't." He murmured, swiftly bearing down upon her mouth. It was quick, sharp, and over fast. She pushed him away.  
  
"Get out of here you twisted son of a bitch, before I take you back to my hotel room."  
  
She slapped his butt as he got out eliciting another smirk. Slamming the door he crossed to the other side.  
  
"What's your name?" He asked again smiling.  
  
She smiled back, "Fuck you."  
  
Then blowing him a kiss, she roared the engine to deadly life and screeched away. Sometime later he would remember that chance encounter, but he never dwelt on it long. But ever since then for breakfast he would have a least one chocolate crossiant, maybe as in tribute. She had saved his ass, he would admit it. If not to anyone else. It would be another five years before they met again under somewhat the same circumstances. 


	2. Phones everywhere fear Agent Sands and C...

Disclaimer: I own him you damn floozies, and you can't have him!  
  
Sands: What the fuck have you been smoking?  
  
Me: You're my bitch. Say another word and I....won't make out with you!  
  
Sands: Cool, chica. Can I fucking leave now?  
  
Me: Shut up.....and no.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~  
  
The phone beside his bed rang. Sands rolled over on his side, opening his eyes slightly. No one beside him, rare occurrence that it was it was fine with him. He hadn't had one night of fucking peace for a while. The phone rang again. The string of curses that he let out would make sailors from Ireland proud enough to buy him his own pub.  
  
2:15 a.m.  
  
He groaned smothering more profanities, reaching under his pillow to rest his hand on his gun.  
  
The phone continued ringing.  
  
Sands aimed the gun, "Ring again." He dared it.  
  
RRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNGGGG!!!!!!!  
  
He blew the damned thing off the table. He fell back among the rumpled sheets and pillows. He closed his eyes.  
  
Brrrrrriiiiiiiiinnnnnnnng!  
  
A sound like a growl of a rabid dog rose in his throat. Furious, he grabbed the cell phone from under his mattress.  
  
"Unless this is a brief-case full of a shit-load of money, or an extremely gorgeous woman looking for a good fuck, I'm tracking you down and blowing your fucking brains out."  
  
"We need you in." The voice responded.  
  
"Listen, whoever you are Messenger, I told you little shits not to call me this early in the fucking morning."  
  
"Come in. You'll get your answers."  
  
Dial tone.  
  
Motherfuckers.  
  
He groaned getting up and pulling on his clothes.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"So who pushed the fucking code-red button?" Were the first words out of his mouth.  
  
"Like the shirt, Sands." Agent Bradley remarked after taking a sip from his cheap coffee cup.  
  
Sands looked down reading the shirt he had carelessly tugged on, 'Man's Best Friend' with an arrow pointing to his crotch. He flipped him off. Fucking asshole.  
  
Bradley indicated the chair at the other side of the board room table. Sands took the hint and sat, putting his feet on the table.  
  
Bradley picked up a remote and pressing a button the lights dimmed.  
  
"Since when did this become fucking MI6?" Sands asked.  
  
"Since you became fucking Bond." Bradley shot back.  
  
Sands flipped him off with both hands this time.  
  
Another press of a button and a screen lowered, displaying the face of a beautiful 18 year old girl. Blonde, green eyed, now that was unusual.  
  
"You got me up at two in the morning to oogle girlie pictures? And you guys think I'm the fucking lunatic?"  
  
"This is the daughter of the Irish Ambassador."  
  
"She's a fox."  
  
"She's missing."  
  
"Alright, so she's a hot fox that's gone fucking missing? What do you want me to do about it?"  
  
"The IRA's gonna have a fucking field day with this. The people who took her, well guess what no shit, they're claiming are Americans and they're not too happy with the whole damn thing. Threatening to start fucking World War Three if we don't bring her back. They've given us a week."  
  
"Damn decent of them." Sands picked at his teeth, "So you want me to shoot them in the ass, get the princess back, hand her over to her father...still a virgin, and stop him from sending off his missles and making America look like fucking Apocalypse Now?"  
  
"That's about it."  
  
"Alright then, now can I go back to sleep?"  
  
Bradley actually smirked. Ah assfuck, this was going to be bad. "Not quite, Sands. There's still one more matter of business we need to discuss."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
"Your partner."  
  
What the fuck?  
  
"She might be of some assistance in getting the leader of whoever is doing this to come out of hiding. The guy we've got as a suspect....well let's just say they are old friends. Or they were."  
  
The door to his left opened.  
  
"You've got to be shitting me." He muttered.  
  
A woman approached. Honey brown hair right to below her shoulders, a filled out figure accented by the black leather pants, and tight blood red shirt, beneath black leather vest. Rose colored specs. Savage black kicks. She took one look at the empty table and drew her gun.  
  
The shot rang as Sands drew his own pistol to find she had merely shot a hole through Bradley's mug. A steady stream of brown liquid pouring through it.  
  
"I was told there would be chocolate crossiants here. It was the only reason why I got off my ass this morning to come down."  
  
Bradley was gulping like a fish out of water, "You missed."  
  
She cocked the gun with a flick of her wrist, "No, I gave you a warning. I never miss. Now get me my fucking crossiants before I 'miss you' again, comprende?"  
  
Bradley touched the earpiece to his ear, "Can we get some chocolate crossiants in here and um.......another café latte? Yeah, thanks."  
  
"Happy?" He asked her.  
  
She replaced the gun and beamed, "Estatic. So what's the hubbub, bub?" She asked.  
  
As Bradley restated the problem, Sands looked over his partner. He knew her from somewhere, and it was pissing him off that her couldn't seem to remember. The boots, felt familiar, or maybe he just liked them, but the crossiants? Fuck me, he chuckled realizing who she was. He caught a glimpse of writing on the shirt and strained to read it behind the protective hold of the vest.  
  
"Ya want to see the whole message, dick?" She asked him and unzipped the vest the rest of the way. Sands stepped closet to see.  
  
'Got Me? I'll do your body good'  
  
Fast bitch, he smiled.  
  
"Nosy little bastard, aren't ya?" She asked cocking her head  
  
Sands reached out and removed her rose glasses, twirling them tauntingly in his fingers. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.  
  
"You want to give me my fucking glasses back?"  
  
"As soon as you answer one teeny, tiny question of mine."  
  
She rolled her eyes, expelling a frustrated sigh, "Shoot or I'll start to."  
  
"What's your name."  
  
Her eyes scanned him much like they did that day five years ago. Her hazel iris's constricted in an odd spiral dance becoming a fig green from the dark brown they had been before, and she smiled.  
  
"Oh.....hey there, sexy."  
  
The door opened again as a staff member came in, a platter filled with chocolate crossiants.  
  
"Hold on there one moment, cutie-patootie." She said raising a finger and skipping, he couldn't fucking believe it, she SKIPPED over to the man with the sweets.  
  
"You....Billy!" She exclaimed reading his id, "You my fine man, are my saint! My personal savior!" She bubbled planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth, and snagged two of the pastries then bounded away happily munching on one of the delicate treats.  
  
The boy with the plate was still looking at her. Sands unconsciously bit the end of her glasses as he chuckled at the little prick's attentiveness. Bradley seemed to notice too for he stalked toward the young man, "Where's my coffee?"  
  
"I uh......uh well, sir, you see....." The kid stuttered.  
  
Bradley took him by the arm forcing him out the door, "Come on, boy. You'll need to learn how to make a fucking cup of coffee instead of eyeing out agents." He pushed the boy out, following he called back to them, "After you finish up meet me in the Inspection Room."  
  
The woman gave him the thumbs up as she continued savoring her chocolate consumption. She finished, sucking the rest from her fingertips, and Sands found himself thinking thoughts around the same lines he had the first time he'd met her.  
  
"Next time don't drool on my glasses." She told him, snatching them from his mouth as she began to walk out.  
  
He pulled her back by the vest, pulling her against him.  
  
"Tell me your name." He ordered softly into her ear.  
  
She laughed turning around to look at him she whispered in his ear just as soft, "Bite me, babe."  
  
"Your age then?"  
  
"Twenty-two."  
  
"Congrats sugar-butt, you're legal."  
  
"I was that day too." She reminded him playing with the collar of his jacket.  
  
"I know, and I'm fucking disappointed that I had to deny you your birthday present. Don't fucking remind me now, because there's a good chance I'll ask for a hell of a rain check on that."  
  
She tsked him, wagging a finger, "Denial is they enemy, hot ass. Don't do it again." She smiled and walked around him to the door.  
  
Fucking Jesus Christ.  
  
"Tell me who you are." He commanded again.  
  
"Eat me."  
  
"Ok." He was at her in an instant, pinning her firmly between him and the door. He leaned down and found the rest of her fucking crossiant shoved in his mouth.  
  
"How about you eat a crossiant instead, honey. I still want to see more fat on your damn bones." It was still there, the look of an innocent, of a child, but the she had the gaze of a smoldering sexuality that told him differently.  
  
He took a bite struggling to articulate his words around the mouthful, "Is this some sort of shit sign, telling me something? Cause honest to god, I have no fucking clue what it means."  
  
"Business first, pleasure later." She pinched him nose with another smile and walked out.  
  
Sands bit his lip in practiced concentration and control not to pull her back in by her hair, lock the door, and screw her into the wall.  
  
She did not just fucking pinch his nose. 


	3. Me llamo es and the Bet

Disclaimer: Don't own nada...there's a little Spanish to keep you on your toes, people. And the only blood around here that will be shed is the one's evoked by the CIA Sands and his partner, HA HA you thought I'd give away the name, not yet dears! But thank you for the reviews, did you know I almost didn't continue this fic? Sacrilege I know!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
She smiled as she walked down the hallway. She could practically feel his gaze drilling into her ass. She switched her hips more pronounced than ever.  
  
"Do you have any idea just where the hell you're going?" Came the smoky caress of a voice behind her.  
  
"I'm sure if I wander around a bit more I'll find my way into the restricted zone or somesuch............" She muttered vaguely.  
  
Her partner came up beside her. "Well, the Restricted Area is thata way where we keep the dead bodies," he said pointing to the left.  
  
She cracked a smile and nodded, "Could kind of guess by the huge ass sign on the door that says 'RESTRICTED'"  
  
"We are supposed to meet Ag. Bradley," he said pressing her against the door to her right and reaching around her to twist the door knob, "in here."  
  
She bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. It had been thirty minutes at best since she'd once again come face to face with Sexy and he was already trying to get into her pants. Nice.  
  
An irritated cough sounded behind them, "Agents, if you would quit screwing around and come join us............"  
  
Glancing over her shoulder she finally let the laugh loose seeing the expression on her superior's face, "Keep your pants on, Slick," she gently mollified the tight shirt stiff Bradley, "we just took a little detour."  
  
Bradley straightened his tie as he showed them to a table.  
  
"You're luggage." Was his explanation.  
  
Opening the case she found all the assortment of clothes she had in her closet. They had probably cleaned out her apartment to get them, "I like." She did, these guys were good.  
  
"Open the top." Bradley commented with a slight wink.  
  
Doing so she cooed, "I REALLY like! Alright! Santa came early!" She exclaimed taking out a huge Hawkseye. Her favorite gun, "And I thought I was only getting coal this year."  
  
"Why do I get the fucking small one?" Her new partner all but whined, looking in his own bag.  
  
She smothered a snort.  
  
"What do you find so funny?" He asked her dangerously.  
  
Approaching him calmly she took the gun from him. It was VERY small. "It's not the size that counts, cherie," she purred in his ear, "it's how you handle it. The question is CAN you handle it?"  
  
"You bet your tits I can handle it." He smirked.  
  
"Good then, you'll be able to HANDLE it when you don't get any, wise ass."  
  
Smirking she dropped the gun in his hand and turned away. She heard him softly growl in irritation.  
  
"Focus people." Bradley barked, "This is no time to get laid, do that on your own fucking watch, because we don't have time for this shit. We have an assignment. Come on." And stalking away he led them to the garage.  
  
Turning on the large overhead lights, Bradley looked on like a father giving his girl a sweet sixteen present, while she squealed and launched herself at the awaiting brand new silver Furrari.  
  
"Whoa." Her partner remarked.  
  
"Get in." Bradley ordered, "You're late as it is, we can't afford many more delays."  
  
"Destination?" She asked as she slid in. God the feeling was better than sex. Well, she stole a glance at her partner as he got in beside her, almost. She felt like a kitten in front of a fire with a bowl of cream.  
  
"L.A."  
  
"We're a couple of bitches, babe." She turned to Mr. Sexy, and informed him, "Ain't no place like the city of Lost Angels. Be like going home, sweet. Our kind of town." Turning her head back to Bradley, she asked, "How fast this thing go, huh?"  
  
"Shit." The agent next to her muttered as he grabbed the seat belt. Smirking she waited for Bradley's answer.  
  
"Well it goes to a hundred sixty............"  
  
Her smile widened.  
  
It could be said she tried to kill Agent Bradley that day as she nearly ran over him. In her own defense she always said he had simply been in her way.  
  
~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~  
  
The road had been under them for a while before she broke the silence.  
  
"So.............what's your name chico?"  
  
Out of the corner of her eye she caught the quick jerk of his head as he peered at her.  
  
"Oh no you don't," he warned, "I asked you first."  
  
She sighed. She hated explaining herself. That's why she loved the shirt of hers that read, 'Don't Ask' She'd wear it tomorrow for his benefit if the bastards had remembered to pack it when they went through her stuff.  
  
"I don't have a name really." She murmured.  
  
"Give me a fucking break."  
  
"Look, asshole..........it's been years since I've used my real name. I've been many people since then. That comes with the job description. One name's just about as good as another these days."  
  
"How about Carla?"  
  
"Hell no."  
  
"So what do I call you then? I mean, I have to have something good to scream when we fuck."  
  
Her grip on the wheel relaxed as she felt a laugh untighten her coiled muscles, "Highly unlikely, sweets."  
  
"In five hours if not less." He continued defensively.  
  
She swung an amused glance at him skeptically. You wish your buns you could.  
  
"Scouts honor." He pledged raising a hand in oath.  
  
She bit her bottom lip as an entertaining idea danced through her brain, "How about this," she began, "I'll tell you my real name the morning after I make love to you."  
  
Her partner's brow rose.  
  
"For now," she added her Cheshire Cat grin resting heavily on her lips, "you can call me Anne."  
  
He made a face, "Why Anne?"  
  
"Why not? Alright shmarty pants, what does a guy like you call himself?"  
  
"The best."  
  
She pinned him with a glare.  
  
"If you want to get technical or very personal," he remarked slyly, "you can call me Sands."  
  
"What kind of screwed up name is Sands?" She quipped sharply.  
  
"I don't know the exact origion of my name, but is sure is a helluva lot better than Anne."  
  
She made a psh sound in her throat, "Sands."  
  
"Anne." He said in the same mocking tarty way, flipping her off with a smile.  
  
"Yuck. Our names are all rhymey, like some Dr. Suess novel on crack." Anne gagged in disgust.  
  
"Fucking God," Sands muttered in barely veiled horror, "they are."  
  
"That's got to change." She warned.  
  
"Good, we start with your name then."  
  
"Go to hell."  
  
Sands smirked in a very calm way that made her think he would try to make good on his bet sometime that day. Truth be told she wasn't really planning on holding up her end of the bargain.  
  
"Tomorrow then?" He asked, trying to set a later date since it didn't look like she was gonna be handing over the goods anytime soon...........soon enough for him that was.  
  
She smirked, "Hey Sparky, just remember what I told you back at HQ."  
  
"Which was?"  
  
"Business first, pleasure later."  
  
"Fuck business, sweetheart, and as a matter of fact fuck pleasure too."  
  
She merely smiled as she took an exit to the left.  
  
"Where exactly are we going?" He asked.  
  
"A friends." Anne replied succinctly.  
  
"Since when do agents have friends?"  
  
"Since they ran out of one night stands." She shot the barb at him happily but he merely brushed it away as if it were fluff.  
  
"That's crazy talk. You can never run out of those."  
  
"Reason #2: She's the best at what she does." She informed him.  
  
"Blow jobs?" Sands asked leaning closer in interest.  
  
"She gets information from people one way or another."  
  
"And just how does she do that?"  
  
"Torture."  
  
"Jesus. The other?"  
  
"Over excess of pleasure."  
  
"Wow, every man's dream."  
  
"Thought you'd like her."  
  
"So that's a yes to the blow jobs?"  
  
Anne just shook her head laughing.  
  
"Does she have a name and if so is it a crappy one?"  
  
Anne sighed, "Faith. Her name is Faith."  
  
~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~  
  
She had met Faith five years ago. The autumn after saving Sands cute butt, she had gone on vacation to Ireland. It had been as close to fate as she had ever known, when Faith and she had ended up in the same pub. She for a good time (and where else would she have gone for a good time if not a pub?) and Faith, an assignment.  
  
So Anne had been at the bar throwing back a few welcome drinks with even more welcome mean. Needless to say when the wee hours of the morning had rolled around she was off-her-ass-in-another-world-drunk. She had been easy fame for a man when he took her to a side alley. It's funny, she had seen the fun but hadn't understood, it didn't click in her brain. She had only laughed at the time.  
  
That's when Faith had showed up. The outfit had almost outdone her own. Black leather pants and a blood red halter, leather jacket over that. Her dark, wavy brown hair looked black with only the distant light from the street to prove otherwise. Her green eyes had danced.  
  
"Hey, can a third party join?" She asked stalking toward them.  
  
"Go away girl, we're busy." The man snapped, panicked.  
  
Anne had giggled gleefully, still under the influence of several liquors.  
  
"Busy havin' fun, I'd say." Faith had purred, "Come on even girls like having that. I think there's a song about it actually." She had somehow disentangled the man's hands from Annes hair and was pressed closely against him, "So, whatchya say? Can I have some fun?"  
  
"Yeah." The man had groaned .  
  
"Good."  
  
Faith had snapped his neck. Simple as that. Anne remembered she had laughed again.  
  
"Man, you're really done it, aren't ya," Faith had asked glancing over her thoughtfully, "Agent Cunumn?"  
  
That had cleared Anne up in a jiffy, "Ex-agent Cunumn. Who the fuck are you?"  
  
"Agent Delforth. But those who know me best, the one's I ain't killed yet call me Faith."  
  
Anne knew who she was. She had been the youngest agent till she herself had come along.  
  
"Fuck my ass, what are you doing here?" She asked grasping her head just now realizing the massive pain in her head.  
  
"My job. What's your excuse for being here?"  
  
"Retirement." Anne had mumbled back.  
  
Faith had laughed a good long one. "Hun, you ain't ever gonna have a real retirement, not in our line of work. There is no fucking out of this business for people like us. Killers. This is just temporary, sweetcheeks, so don't get to cozy."  
  
"I don't think I could," She admitted, "I love it too damn much."  
  
Faith had grinned, "Which part: shooting people or screwing around."  
  
"That's easy, shooting people."  
  
"I know just the place where we can do both."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It had been the first of many days as Faith's friend. After that they had decided to prolong the vacation overseas indefinitely for about three years, then about a year ago both traveled back to the old US of A after Faith's cover had gotten blown and Anne had had another bad relationship crash and burn. Damn Kamakazi Romance.  
  
Anne found herself drumming her nails on the wheel as they pulled in front of a house that was by no means a match box. Tow years, how much had Faith changed in that time?  
  
"She sounds like a handful." Sands said popping open his door as she did the same.  
  
"She is," she admitted, "if you can ever get your hands on her." They walked up the steps to the mansion.  
  
His brow rose, "A challenge? Or is this just a diversion to keep me from finding out your real name?"  
  
She smirked, knocking rapidly on the door.  
  
"Cuase it this is the bait," he continued, "I'm not fucking biting the line."  
  
Anne knocked again louder.  
  
"Yeah, yeah!" Came the exasperated and irritated mutter from beyond the door, "What doya want?!" The knob turned, "Get some clothes on sugar, we got company..........."  
  
The door opened and Anne knew nothing had changed.  
  
"Hey there Faith, babes."  
  
There was a moment of silence.  
  
"You fucking bitch!"  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~* 


	4. Door 1's lookin iffy, try 2

Disclaimer: You know it by now don't you my lovelies? I own him, at least on those certain nights when he's in town and Mystery Anne is my bitch. Hehe shall we proceed?

"You fucking bitch!" The dark haired woman exclaimed, pulling Anne into a hug, "Why didn't you warn me you were coming?!"  
  
Anne laughed, "You know me, I'm never on time."  
  
"Well get your ass in here.....!"  
  
"Babe, who's that at the door?" Came a pleasant male voice from behind the other side of the door.  
  
Anne glanced over Faith's shoulder, "Still screwing around?"  
  
"Yeah, haven't given up on the shootin' part either, if he doesn't shut up I'll have to start that up."  
  
A blond beauty of a male youth stepped up beside her, "Who are these people?"  
  
Winking at Anne she turned to him, "Hun, I'll call you a cab, alrigh', you must be exhausted......"  
  
"Actually no, I'm not......" He began.  
  
"Bullshit I can practically see the bags under your eyes, sweet. Go home....." She all but pushed him out the door with his clothes in hand.  
  
"Call me tomorrow?" The man asked hopefully.  
  
"Oooh, baby tomorrow's not good for me." She hissed in regret, "Just wait by the phone, maybe I'll call ya sometime."  
  
"But......"  
  
"Ta babe........get in HERE!" She said grabbing a hold of both Anne and Sands yanking them inside.  
  
"So.....who was he?" Anne asked jerking a thumb at the door.  
  
"Hell if I know." Faith admitted, "The question is who is HE?" She purred pointing at Sands.  
  
Rolling her eyes Anne sighed, "Take him off my hands, he's my new partner, and a pain in the ass. Agent Sands, Agent Delforth."  
  
"E been tellin' stories about me?" Faith asked, slinking to Sands a cruel smile tugged at his mouth.  
  
"All true, I hope." He murmured.  
  
"Yes, all true."  
  
"You and I should talk."  
  
"Anytime."  
  
Waving a hand at them in exasperation Anne went to the bar getting each of them a tequila shooter. Like a shot of brisk awakening. Turning around, she found Sands in front of her.  
  
"E?" An eyebrow rose, a fox smile crept his lips.  
  
Striking him with a look of hard contempt, she looked above his shoulder, "Hey no fair, Faith." She called stepping around him, "No more giving the bastard clues."  
  
"Oh god, not that mystery identity game, shit." Faith groaned.  
  
She was on the receiving end of one of Anne's rather nastier death glares.  
  
"Sorry buddy," Faith told Sands, "Top secret, code red, and all that follows. E's got issues with her name, can't help ya out here."  
  
"No worries." He admitted, "She won't have any secrets soon."  
  
"Shove it up your ass." Anne snapped.  
  
"Meow." Faith smirked, "So why ya here E? I take it the retirement's over?"  
  
"Damn straight," Anne snorted, "Crisis with the IRA, kidnapping, and an old friend of ours from Ireland is in town. Put two and two together, you get fucking four. What do you think it adds up to?"  
  
Faith's face tensed, "Miller?"  
  
Anne nodded soberly, "One guess as to why he's here."  
  
"I don't like being left out of riveting conversations, girls." Sands reminded them from across the room.  
  
"Sean Miller." Faith informed him, "Special Agent in Ireland, helped us out in a few jams over seas."  
  
"If he's here," Anne continued filling him in, "then he's trying to find the Ambassadore's daughter as well. Bet you he knows America has nothing to do with it and the Rock's sent him to find her before we do and place the blame on Ireland for jumping to their fucked up conclusions. He's not the most helpful character and he's not here to help us that's not his job, but he'll have information we need to fill in the blanks."  
  
"I have a feeling there's a story behind this." Sands commented idly, noting the obvious disgust in her voice.  
  
"Well, it doesn't help that the son of a bitch Miller, is one of E's old flames." Faith sniggered.  
  
"Really?" Sands asked his voice piping up his interest, "Would he know what your name is?"  
  
"Oh go jerk off." Anne muttered before throwing back her shot.  
  
They talked some more until the booze began to wear off."  
  
"Ok, beetle butt," Anne groaned addressing Faith, getting to her feet from a brown leather armchair that could have swallowed her whole, "I'm taking a shower. I've been on the road since daybreak and I need a wash."  
  
"Need a helping hand?" Sands asked with menacing politeness, glancing heavily at her from beneath dark lashes.  
  
"You only need two to get the job done right."  
  
"Yeah but it's no fun that way."  
  
She merely smirked in response as she left Faith in the room alone with him. That should keep him preoccupied.  
  
"Oh," she peeked her head back in, "I'm bringing my baby with me," she claimed holding up her gun, "and the person who walks in on me gets it fifty fucking times in the chest. Toodles, kids." She chirped, darting away.

A half an hour later, in a sweltering shower, left her in complete bliss. Given some candles and soft music it would have been in every possibility that she would never have left. But as it was she didn't trust Sands, and his eagerness to join her in the bathroom....thirty minutes was the most she could spare under the circumstances.  
  
It was one in the morning when she slid on her sleep ware, nothing more than a simple black tee and shorts. Anne could only thank Faith for keeping Sands in her part of the house, she needed some sleep, and wasn't at all sure she would get that if the dead sexy agent were near here. She had barely crawled under the covers and sighed, when she turned off the light.  
  
Her fingers played along the cold metal of the gun under her pillow. No, she did not trust her new partner, but when had that been new? She hadn't trusted men for years. Other than information there was little else they were good for.  
  
Although, some unconscious part of her mind reasoned, Sands seemed to be good for a number of things.  
  
She fell asleep with an ironic smile on her lips.

Sands was not the type to leave a beautiful woman willingly, but this was a predicament he had not exactly dealt with before. Two women, in two separate rooms. Damn. Faith had more or less made it clear she expected him in her bed at some time that night, while his partner had more or less told him to piss off. Never being one to ignore a challenge, he stealthily made his way to the latter's room....after all he did want to know her name.  
  
You don't get to be the best fucking CIA agent around without picking up a few basics, like breaking and entering. Easy as pie. The door opened, the door closed just as silently.  
  
Padding cat soft across the carpet he made his way to the dark outline of the bed. He took note of her soft breathing, in and out through her nose. With no preamble he slipped in beside her. Placing a hand on her back he scooted closer, she stirred but did not wake.  
  
'Come on, Anne. Make it fun for a guy.'  
  
This close he could smell the earthy fragrance of her shampoo. Forcing down a wicked smile he wrapped an arm around her middle.  
  
And still she slept. This would not do at all. She suddenly turned on her side, burying herself into his arms. Much better, the laugh vibrated in his throat.  
  
Her voice surprised him, "Sands..........." She moaned.  
  
The grin widened with a hungry growl.  
  
"Oh god Sands........I want you......god I want you so much........"  
  
He chuckled darkly, as her dreaming fingers tangled themselves in his hair, "You do something to me.....I need you......I can't live without you.....after all I've always been attracted to sexy queers......."  
  
"What?!" He exclaimed pushing himself away from her, only to find her hazel eyes fixed unflinchingly on him, traces of a wink in them.  
  
"Just kidding, dollface."  
  
"Why you little bitch...." He growled, pressing himself close to her again, he placed a hand demandingly on the small of her back, forcing her to him as he whispered, "you hand me believing you with in Slumberland there for a minute."  
  
"Meditation." She explained simply, "The Sleep of Ages for Insomniacs Worldwide. Now, what the fuck are you doing in my bed? Hmmnn?"  
  
"I know what I'm not doing." He indicated nipping sharply at her neck.  
  
"Ah, Christ," She groaned reaching under her pillow, "I was hoping I wouldn't have to use this....."  
  
Sands found the barrel of a gun resting lightly on his forehead, right between the eyes.  
  
"Get out. Go harass Faith, why don't ya?"  
  
"She's my second choice."  
  
He heard the distinct click of the gun that usually signaled death.  
  
"Get.......out."  
  
"No."  
  
He felt the whispered word hit her uncomfortably, her muscles pulled taunt with wariness. However, a slow lazy smile stretched across her lips.  
  
"I know what you're thinking........" she murmured, "You're thinking the gun isn't loaded. Well I think you should scoot before we find out."  
  
"Aren't you gonna ask if I feel lucky?"  
  
"You don't feel lucky." She assured him growling, moving the gun to his chest now, right above the Aorta, it would be a slow and painful end but that he could deal with.  
  
"I feel insanely lucky." He informed her, crushing his lips down hungrily, pushing her head back with the force of his accosting of her mouth. Shock laced through him at her softness, her nature was hard, aloof, but now that she was out of the leather and tight shirts he could now feel just how unbelievingly squeezable she was. He growled in satisfaction as he ground himself into her, grasping the swell of her hip, jerking her forward, his tongue swept the cave of her mouth. His next growl was one of frustration, he wanted those clothes off....and NOW.  
  
She laughed deeply beneath his lips, the cold metal of the gun still at his chest, pushing him back.  
  
"Not that lucky." She warned him.  
  
"You wicked cock-tease........." he hissed.  
  
A wise ass smirk framed her mouth as she held him off. She had been fucking playing him like a guitar, he did not stand for that kind of shit.  
  
Refusing to acknowledge the weapon at his chest he gripped her wrists harshly, "Tell me your name," he snarled, "........now."  
  
She raised a superior brow, "Now, we made a deal, Sands. You find out after the morning we make sweet, sweet love." And within an instant he found the gun replaced by her foot and the next thing he knew he was on the floor.  
  
Groaning, he picked himself up. The crazy bitch had kicked him.  
  
A shot landed right in front of his feet making him back up. Another bullet was blasted into the floor, and taking a glance before jumping back again, he saw his partner, smiling in the dark.  
  
He had to admit how it was getting him off. She was precisely aiming each shot, driving him out the door, and as much as he knew one of those boys would hurt like a motherfucker, he at that point was close to willingly risking that pain to lunge himself at her and fucking her into the mattress.  
  
Sooner than he expected, he found his back against the hallway wall. Anne stood in the door, leaning against the frame , gun hanging lazily from her fingers.  
  
"Now Tiger, I'm going to close this door and in ten seconds I'm letting my baby rip into it. I suggest you scittdattle before I do."  
  
"Hey, fuck you, luv." He kissed the air sweetly in remorse.  
  
"Not yet, luv." She kissed back, "Goodnight Sands." She smiled then closed the door and locked it again.  
  
He shook his head, smiling, and no sooner had he turned away had three shots burst through the door embedding themselves into the wall where he had been.  
  
"Missed." He called.  
  
"Warning." Came the reply.  
  
He allowed himself a low chuckle, continuing to walk away. That laugh meant trouble, it meant payback in a pretty nasty way.  
  
Finding his way back through the house, he rapped swiftly on a bedroom door.  
  
And behind door number two......  
  
Faith opened the door and seeing him, stepped back, allowing him to enter. With eyes full of harsh malice and a cloud of barely veiled lust he accepted her invitation.  
  
Anne slept through the screams.  
  
Knowing that his partner at that moment was sound asleep, clueless as to what the next morning would bring was only half the fun.  
  
He would make sure she would remember that denial was bad for the system.


End file.
